today i cried at a party, and for the first time since isa died, it felt or seemed inappropriate. an unwelcomed buzz kill. is this the phenomena that other people might think i should be over it? am i just imagining it? or am i just uncomfortable with being public with my emotions anymore? all i know, is that i wanted to cry and i wanted to be anywhere else. z

a dream from amy

Hi Zanna,
I just wanted to tell you how honored I was to be included yesterday in gathering for Isa [the anniversary potluck picnic] and how beautiful you are in everything you do--so generous and thoughtful in the midst of grieving for Isa, being a mom to Omar, a wife to Babou, and friend to everyone.

I had a dream about Isa Friday night. I dreamed that I was looking through a pipe in a wall--it was really hard to see through it--flickery like an old film. Hannah was with me and we were taking turns looking. Through the pipe, we could see into a lovely garden--over grown with lilies and yarrow and blackberry bushes. There was a limestone wall with a crumbly staircase in the middle, and a stone building beyond it with an aged wood roof. Isa was playing gleefully with some tan and black
long-eared goats--jumping and running along with them.

See you,
Amy

Birthday Wishes

my dear Isa,
Happy Birthday, my precious baby. today is your 4th birthday. too bad you never got the chance to be a 4-year-old. it's getting harder and harder to imagine what you would be like. i put away the 'princess and the frog' flip flops popsie got you last year that you wanted. i don't think they would have fit you anymore. they seem so small. i wonder what you would have wanted for your birthday present this year. i woke up just a mess, and didn't know what to do with myself. so i set up your birthday table. i wish with my whole heart and soul you were still here and just sleeping, soon to wake up to find your place at the table beautifully decorated with flowers, presents, and cards aplenty. instead, it sits on your alter, honoring you and sending you our love and blessings... and hopeless longing. i wish we could have a birthday party for you again. and again. lots more. remember last year? the big slide? all our friends? the bbq? the slide was awfully intimidating for you with all the big boys on it, but you got to enjoy it with just omar the following day. and remember the hike at windy saddle? such a big girl, you hiked the entire way in and out. remember how it sprinkled on us? perhaps we will hike there this evening again. that is where i was when you died and i haven't been back since. you didn't know what to make of your birthday. you were constantly wondering what all the fuss was about. popsie remembers you changing your clothes so many times into your new outfits, trying them all out. i still sleep with your favorite dress tante tina had given you. the one you wore the day you died. i use it to dry my tears...

now you would be four and about to be a big sister. as old as omar was the day you were born. he became your big brother at 4. it is your turn, where are you? the hole in our lives is still so pronounced. we missed you in Africa and we miss you here. we miss you at the restaurant and we miss you at lion's park. we miss you in the backyard and we miss you at the library. everything is different without you and today is especially hard. we love you so much. i know in my heart that as a spiritual being, you can see so much more than i can, and i long for that perspective. help me to see it. you are amazing and i miss you. now i will go water your orchard...

your earth family...mama...popsie....omar....

Found this in my email today. It is from a friend, written shortly after isatou's memorial last summer. very touching.

Dear Babou and Zanna,

What a tremendous blessing your family is. Here in the midst of your loss, your ability to touch others, show love and express faithfulness is nothing short of amazing.

I have been deeply touched by you both this week. The love you have in your hearts is so wonderful. I am touched by seeing you together. I am touched by seeing the closeness you have with your sister, Zanna. I am touched by having the opportunity to meet many of your friends and witness them coming together for you and experience the goodness in their hearts. I am touched by watching Omar play and seeing him sit on Babou’s lap. I am touched by your words, Babou, and my heart lifted a bit when I heard you speak of Isatou coming to you in your dreams every morning. What a sweet angel she is.

I was going to take pictures today for you to have later. Typically, I am a very visual person – which is why I burst into tears as I looked at the framed photos of Isa in the art area. As I told Babou though, I stopped and could not do it. In part, it just didn’t feel right and in part because today did not feel visual. What I was taken by was the feeling of love and loss and transformation, the feeling of the air around us and ground beneath our feet, and the sound of the river and the wind in the trees. That was a large part of what today was for me in honoring Isatou – that which cannot be captured on a camera to give to you, but I know in my heart . . . . you already have in your heart and being.

I am touched by your connection and respect for the outdoors, mother Earth and our world as a whole. I am touched by your ability to share that in such an easy way as it is just a part of you. I am touched by your ability to continue walking with forward momentum when it would be so easy to crumble into a ball.

I am saddened we were never able to meet and play with Isatou. I just love that sweet, spunky little girl without ever even having met her.

There is so much more I could say to you, but the long and short is I thank you. I thank you for sharing who you are in such a beautiful way. I thank you for allowing us to be near you today. I thank you for loving your children and your family the way you do.

My prayer is to be able to make a difference for you. My promise is to continue to stand next to you and to believe in you.

I am so sorry for your loss.

In loving honor to your sweet baby girl,

Erin Fairbairn

(Andy, Colton and Jacqueline too)

a smear of a visit

Today is the 9th of May. 10 months ago, my little girl died. one week ago, her headstone was finally installed. tomorrow is the sentencing hearing for the woman guilty of her death. it is so intense. the volcano is about to blow. babou is maxxed out on his ability to cope, and the world still feels like it is crumbling down.

this picture was accidentally taken by a friend at isa's headstone gathering. what do you see? i can see isa.

she was there, there is no doubt about it, but visual evidence? please. am i crazy? maybe. but what harm can come of that? that is twice now, she's given us a sign out at the cemetery, when we are all together. gives me just a smear of hope that life is bigger than this.

xo zan

Yesterday we went to a fundraiser for an Armenian Orphanage. As the three of us walked into the Longmont coffee shop, the 3 ladies performing some live acoustic music were singing "Leaving on a Jet Plane." I was wearing my pin with Isa's picture on it and a friend commented, "Oh, you brought her with you!" Through tears I said, "I think she's already here."

how to describe it...

I just finished reading, "Finding Hope When a Child Dies: What Other Cultures Can Teach Us" by Sukie Miller. Here is a part that spoke to me.

in our search for a meaningful vocabulary for the experience of child loss, we need words that will contain the pain and isolation and chaos and the spiritual upheaval of all that has transpired. we need words that symbolize both suffering and healing, that evoke honor and suggest experience, new strength, and deeper vision - because all these are true after the death of a child.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxisaxoxoxoxoxowexoxoxmissxoxoyouxoxoxoxoxo